


Awed

by ToolMusicLover



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Anakin Skywalker, Coming Untouched, Competence Kink, Jedi in Love (Star Wars), Laughter During Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Secret Relationship, Teasing, Top Obi-Wan Kenobi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29978628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToolMusicLover/pseuds/ToolMusicLover
Summary: The thing about the war is that it’s meant that he and Anakin are very rarely sent on missions alone together, there’s always their men or Ahsoka there to keep them company. So on this occasion, where he doesn’t have to be quite so cautious with where he looks, he finds himself abundantly, and recklessly, distracted. Out of all his concerns, this was one risk that he hadn’t considered including in his calculations.Or: Obi-Wan is left awe struck when he joins Anakin on a mission and fails to be subtle about it.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 30
Kudos: 158





	Awed

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all,
> 
> Me? Writing porn with plot?! Yep, it's finally happened! Can you believe there's no other fics in this fandom tagged with 'competence kink'? I'm honestly so surprised.
> 
> Happy reading!

From the moment Anakin becomes a knight there’s a lingering sense of inevitability that Obi-Wan isn’t able to elude. It’s not that he doubts Anakin’s power—he had trained him after all—he’s seen first hand what Anakin is capable of, and that’s even whilst he’s deliberately curbing his abilities to fit their needs. Anakin is competent and strong, there’s no denying that.

That doesn’t stop the constant worry chipping away at his mind, sombre and alarming, a belief that for all of Anakin’s awe inducing power it won’t always be enough—that one day he’ll be hurt. And that _he_ won’t be able to stop it. It’s too easy to remember the smell of cauterized flesh as Dooku had maimed Anakin, the utter despair on his face and the grim physiotherapy that had occurred afterwards. And that’s not including the wounds that Obi-Wan knows Anakin hides from him. The tacky yellow shame that he briefly encounters across their bond when Anakin is too slow in pulling his glove on.

Obi-Wan doesn’t voice any of this out loud, it would only upset the younger man. Anakin is prideful and too eager to show his worth as a knight. He doesn’t voice his worries out loud, not even when Anakin is called in front of the Council for another mission and is thrumming with restless anticipation.

Distractedly, he wonders if Anakin will ever be calm. If he’ll ever be able to find the balance that Obi-Wan has lectured him about for over a decade or if this is merely how Anakin will always be. A troubled web of frantic energy. Obi-Wan knows, however, that there are some moments when Anakin is able to find peace of mind. Moments that Obi-Wan is only too happy to help with. 

Those moments are irrelevant before the Council though. Before the Council Anakin’s presence only jitters more so, restlessness also accompanied with agitation. Anakin stands in the centre of the oval space, expression oddly incensed. Hands clasped in front of himself and hidden amongst the sleeves of his robe, his eyes are narrowed in thoughtful consideration as he observes the handful of Council members present. Obi-Wan often forgets that for all of Anakin’s brash nature he is also incredibly vigilant. Able to see what many others can’t, and that includes most individuals sitting in that room. 

Many don’t know what to make of him. Even after all these years they’re still undecided about Anakin’s purpose. The Chosen One or not the Chosen One. But whatever position one takes, it can’t be denied, there is _something_ about Anakin. Something important. Someone to be watched—maybe feared, but in his personal opinion, someone to be admired.

Refocusing, Obi-Wan delivers his report. “We have intel from a trusted source that a Baktoid Armor engineer is currently on Coruscant,” Obi-Wan explains, looking at Anakin. “It’s believed that he has valuable knowledge on some of the upcoming Separatist weapons.”

A holoprojection is displayed throughout the room, originating from Master Yoda’s chair. The blue hue shows a heavily guarded facility on one of the many levels of Coruscant’s underworld. What the guarded mercenaries lack in advanced weaponry they make up for in sheer numbers. Unbidden, his gaze is drawn back to Anakin. He knows that Anakin despises the underworld. Not because of the people, but because of what it represents. A failure by the Republic to help the citizens in the most need on the most prosperous planet in the galaxy. 

“I presume he’s meeting with someone, that’s why he’s so heavily guarded?” Anakin asks.

“Yes, or he was meant to be,” he replies. “Although, we don’t know who. I tried to have my source find out but they weren’t able to gather any further intel.”

“We’ve been watching him for weeks,” Master Windu states, his deep voice resonating throughout the room. “But none else has entered the building.”

Anakin turns sharply towards him. “You think that he knows we’re watching,” he announces shrewdly. “Why weren’t you more careful? Now we’ve lost the chance to capture whoever his associate was as well.”

 _Anakin,_ he scolds internally, chucking his erstwhile Padawan an unimpressed look. Unsurprisingly, Anakin ignores him.

Master Windu regards Anakin coolly, hands intertwined in his lap as he leans back in his seat. “I won’t deny that we made a mistake. We had thought we were being discreet, though apparently not enough so. Now we need to capture him before he tries to make an attempt to leave the planet. We think this is the perfect mission for yourself whilst the Resolute is in dock.”

Obi-Wan bites his tongue, willing himself to remain quiet. _He_ doesn’t think this is the perfect mission for Anakin. In the past, whenever they had returned from missions from the underworld the resentful anger seething just below Anakin’s surface had always been disquieting in its intensity. Obi-Wan had tried to sway the Council in their decision, but with no success. The only thing that he had been able to convince them of was that he accompanied Anakin on the mission. 

“The facility,” Anakin says, bringing Obi-Wan back to the present. He takes two steps forward and reaches out with his mechno hand, gesturing towards a door on the hologram. “That’s the only way in?”

The other Council members present say nothing, so Master Windu replies, his tone intrigued, “Yes,” he begins, nodding towards Master Yoda, who taps a button on his chair and spins the hologram. “The nearby upper and lower levels have been scouted, as well as the buildings next to it. There isn’t another entrance or anybody else close by. The area is deserted.”

Anakin lets out a quiet hum, his eyes drifting over the map. “So, we shouldn’t expect any reinforcements or any disappearing acts,” he murmurs attentively. “Just the mercenaries who are present?”

“Correct you are, young Skywalker. Monitor the communication of the facility, we have been. No evidence do we have to suggest that he has been in contact with outside forces,” Master Yoda informs them. 

“Okay,” Anakin declares. “And do you just want him captured or questioned? And what about the mercenaries?”

“If there’s time you should question him, although we also need you to capture him. We’ve already informed Coruscant prison that they should prepare for an influx of prisoners, regarding both the engineer and any mercenaries who decide to surrender,” Master Windu states.

With a nod of understanding, Anakin asks, “When do me and Ahsoka leave?”

Obi-Wan’s heart plummets. It’s so sudden that he’s unable to hide it in time. Anakin breaks out of his contemplation and turns to look at him, face worried. Obi-Wan swiftly reinforces his shields, but it’s too late, Anakin has already felt his hurt. It’s most bothersome, if Obi-Wan is being honest with himself. He’s still struggling to adjust to the heightened awareness in his and Anakin’s bond. Some moments he adores it, but on occasions such as this it makes him feel extremely uncomfortable. Constantly on high alert.

“Not Ahsoka,” Master Yoda tells Anakin, “but with Master Kenobi, you will go.”

Anakin’s head snaps back to Master Yoda, a frown on his face. “I don’t need supervision, Master.”

“Aware of that, we are. Request this, Master Kenobi did.”

 _Oh no._ That is quite possibly the worst thing Master Yoda could have said. Anakin doesn’t look at him, but the clench of his jaw tells Obi-Wan enough. 

“I see,” Anakin strains, forced out from gritted teeth.

“The mercenaries have been standing around for weeks, so they should be easy to surprise and easy to defeat,” Master Windu says. “But, we’ll still have some members of the Coruscant Guard standing nearby just in case.”

Anakin gives a nod of understanding before saying, “When will we leave?”

Master Yoda turns off the hologram as Master Windu replies, “As soon as it's nightfall.”

“I’ll go and prepare myself then.” Anakin moves into a familiar bow, eyes not once looking over at him and is turning to leave when Master Yoda speaks, “Adjourning now, the Council is. Leave with you, Master Kenobi will.”

Obi-Wan’s stomach does a strange, sharp twist, his throat swallowing thickly and his palms sweating. Master Yoda is looking at him with a too perceptive gaze. It makes his apprehension soar, he’s so sure that Master Yoda knows. Or at least suspects that he and Anakin mean more to each other than just former Master and Padawan. 

Standing, he tries to not let his unease show. The rustling of other Masters moving and the hue of some holographic members disappearing soothes some of his tension, though it swiftly returns when he joins an irritated looking Anakin. They don’t speak as they make their way through the Temple’s hallways and for once Obi-Wan can’t even be annoyed at Anakin’s anger. 

Anakin has been a knight for over a year now and he has proven himself capable in many, many regards. It shouldn’t be that his former Master is requesting to join him on a mission where his presence is unnecessary. Not only does it show a lack of faith in Anakin’s skills, it also brings into question his own attachment. And what he and Anakin don’t need are queries about that. 

Obi-Wan knows he has done wrong and he must make it right. “Anakin,” he says softly, laying a gentle hand on his forearm in a request that they stop. Pulling Anakin over to one of the large cathedral windows, he tries not to sigh too loudly when Anakin crosses his arms over his chest and a familiar petulant frown settles on his face. 

“If I offended you then I apologise, that was never my intention.”

“I don’t need you there,” Anakin mutters, brows pulled down, maddened.

Rubbing a hand through his coarse beard, he briefly glances out at the Coruscant day, admiring the chaotic complexity that is the city planet. It’s beautiful and overwhelming. It’s trillions of inhabitants both a blessing and the cause for its current deterioration.

“I know you don’t,” he agrees.

Anakin’s face twists in confusion. “Then why did you ask to come?”

He desperately wants to smooth the creases out from between Anakin’s brows. To run his hand across Anakin’s face and have it as relaxed and as youthful as it should be. The war has hardened Anakin too much and he doesn’t like it, unfortunately it’s just another thing he, and many others, have had to accede to in the past year. The knights of the Jedi Order have adapted themselves as necessary, yet it doesn’t make it any easier to see. 

Gnawing at his lip, he admits quietly, “Because I worry when you go down to the lower levels, I know you don’t like it.”

Surprise flitters across Anakin’s face. In all likelihood, more so from his quick disclosure than the words spoken. Obi-Wan knows that it isn’t him alone still adjusting to the change in their relationship. He’s always been a private person, something that has always infuriated Anakin, but now he’s trying to be more candid with the other man. It’s unusually difficult, though he thinks it’s appreciated if Anakin’s shy smile is anything to go by. 

“You worry about me,” Anakin confirms, his eyes twinkling, teasing.

Obi-Wan huffs in false exasperation. “Of course I do.”

His pulse picks up when Anakin gives him a knowing, gentle smile. “I’ve been in many situations that I don’t like and I’ve been perfectly fine. In fact, you don’t even know about most of them, Master.”

“I know,” he says, cheeks tinting red over his unnecessary fussing. 

Anakin hesitates for a moment, face studious before he purposefully intones, “I appreciate your concern, but...it’s not necessary. Especially not in this situation, Obi-Wan. Next time—“

“There won’t be a next time, Anakin. I know that you’re capable of handling this and other similar missions, I’ll make sure to keep my unfounded worries to myself,” he comments confidently. 

Lip quirking in his direction, Anakin reluctantly concedes, “It’s not entirely unfounded. You’re right, I do dislike the underground.” He stares out the window, his tan skin illuminated by the soft sun and making his burnished curls shine with a bronze tint. Obi-Wan suspects that he’s looking downwards, imagining the squalid streets and decrepit buildings hidden from view of Coruscant's elite. “But it’s been a while since I’ve let it get to me. I’ve been down there plenty of times since we last visited.”

Been down there for what, Obi-Wan wonders. The only thing he can think of is podracing, rather strangely, Obi-Wan finds that the idea comforts him. He had learnt about Anakin’s night time outings fairly soon after he had become his Padawan and never said anything of it, instead choosing to allow Anakin that one thing in a period when he had already lost so much. As Anakin had become busier as a Senior Padawan, his forays had dwindled considerably. Now, Obi-Wan can’t think of anything better that would help lift Anakin’s downtrodden spirit.

Obi-Wan hums in reply, deciding that he’ll let Anakin tell him in his own time. Knowing that they need to get going, he begins, “We need to—“ 

His words stutter to a stop when Anakin's face contorts, features absorbed in some moment of remembrance that he’s not privy to. Abruptly, Anakin casts him a bewildered look. 

“Wait, there’s something else. Why were you upset...“

Sudden realisation streaks across Anakin's face and his mouth pops open in shock. It would have been humorous if Obi-Wan wasn’t so mortified, he hastily schools his expression into one of indifference, though he knows that it's unlikely to work. 

“You were upset that I instinctively chose Ahsoka and not you,” Anakin breathes.

“No.” 

_Yes._

The heat of his cheeks betray his lie. The subsequent tenderness on Anakin’s face is too much, so he glances away, feeling too exposed. Vulnerable. He doesn’t like it in the least. 

“Oh— _Obi-Wan._ ”

His heart thuds with overwhelming want at the warm tone. And apparently he’s not alone. Anakin moves to step towards him, arm up high and outstretched, ready to card through his hair. The nearby commotion of two Jedi walking by in conversation stops him. Anakin’s hand lowers and a thunderous scowl settles on his face, Obi-Wan thinks he even hears a quiet Huttese curse mumbled under his breath.

“It’s okay, Anakin,” he murmurs in an attempt to soothe.

That only seems to enrage Anakin further. “It’s not,” he hisses, mechno hand whirling as it clenches. “I want—“ 

Anakin cuts himself off, unable to say what he wants where it could be heard, but the pure longing emanating from his eyes tells Obi-Wan enough. He wants to touch and comfort, and so does Obi-Wan. _This_ is also something else that they’re having to get used to. An attraction to one another that is all consuming. Physical, emotional and intense. His breath quickening and his body growing warm with a desperate need to touch. To feel Anakin under his hands. Obi-Wan already aches, and they’ve only looked at each other. 

He rubs a rough, grounding hand across his face. 

“Come,” he says, voice low and head tilting down the hallway. “We need to start getting ready.”

With his upper lip curled in displeasure, Anakin gives a jerky nod in agreement and falls in to step alongside him as they turn away.

***

Once they leave, they move quickly. Nightfall is only a few hours away and they still have to travel to the location, speak with the Coruscant guard and devise a plan amongst themselves. So, they choose their speeder and talk with Commander Fox who informs them that Lieutenant Thire will be handling their mission.

Ahsoka isn’t too pleased to learn that she’ll be staying behind. Absently, Obi-Wan wonders if it's selfish of him to be taking her place by Anakin’s side. She would have been here if he hadn’t requested to join Anakin. And that is her rightful place as his Padawan. He tries to shove the guilt away, telling himself that Ahsoka deserves these moments of respite between far flung missions where she can be a normal Padawan; attending classes and meeting with friends, yet, it still feels wrong. Like he’s taking advantage of his and Anakin’s relationship and denying Ahsoka an opportunity to develop her and Anakin’s own budding relationship.

Contrary to what he expects, Anakin is oddly calm as they make their way through Coruscant's busy traffic. He on the other hand, is not. Despite their earlier conversation, and Anakin’s reassurance, there is still a tight, fearful anxiety lurking in his mind. He doesn’t know why he’s so worried. Anakin is right, he’s been in far more dangerous situations than this in the past year and he’s been fine. Reluctantly, Obi-Wan admits to himself it isn’t concern for Anakin's safety that he’s troubled by, it’s the memory of the dangerous fury that Anakin would exude after their encounters with the underworld. That bleak rage that makes a cold trickle of unease travel down his spine.

A hand touches his shoulder, the other still holding the control of their speeder. “Are you okay?” Anakin asks, quickly glancing at him in concern before looking ahead once again.

Obi-Wan lets out a small sigh, he could have durasteel walls wrapped around his head and it wouldn’t make a difference. It isn’t his shields that are the weak link, it’s his body language. Anakin doesn’t need their bond to know when something is wrong, he just has to look at him. 

Obi-Wan still isn’t sure how he feels about that. To be known so intimately by someone that he has no way of hiding.

“I’m fine,” he replies, attempting nonchalance. It’s not an outright lie, he doesn’t actually believe that anything bad will happen during the mission, he’s just nervous about the moment afterwards. Oddly enough, Anakin’s presence is paradoxical. Both the cause and effect for his current state.

Anakin’s hand lingers, the heavy weight of the metal settling on his robes and seeping through to his skin. The familiarity of the gesture is comforting. “You seem like you're upset with me,” Anakin admits.

“I’m not,” Obi-Wan promises immediately, glancing away from the hectic Coruscant night life to Anakin. He has an eyebrow arched playfully and a smirk threatening to break free across his lips. Obi-Wan rolls his eyes good naturedly, of course Anakin would find his unusual tension amusing. Probably relishing in the knowledge that his former Master isn’t as impervious to uncertainties as he likes everyone to believe.

“Good,” Anakin says, voice hinting at smugness. “Wouldn’t want you to be distracted.” Then he lifts his hand to Obi-Wan’s face and strokes the back of two leather clad fingers across his cheek; deliberately rousing.

With a winning smirk, Anakin pulls his hand away and Obi-Wan frowns, arms crossed over his chest and too preoccupied thinking about their impending mission to ponder over that touch too long.

***

The thing about the war is that it’s meant that he and Anakin are very rarely sent on missions alone together, there’s always their men or Ahsoka there to keep them company. So on this occasion, where he doesn’t have to be quite so cautious with where he looks, he finds himself abundantly, and recklessly, distracted. Out of all his concerns, this was one risk that he hadn’t considered including in his calculations. 

It’s quite ridiculous, if he’s being honest with himself. He’s seen Anakin fight on countless occasions, there is no reason for him to stare after Anakin with an enamoured expression on his face. Obi-Wan has long since given up trying to convince Anakin to wear the typical lighter, beige Jedi robes, and right now, Obi-Wan relents that maybe that was for the best. Anakin is the truest version of himself like this: dark robes blended in amongst the dim background, a shadow of the night, dangerous and alluring.

With the azure column of his blade alight he becomes a beacon in the stark, cruel streets. Bright, powerful and astonishing. The sight of him shimmering in the Force is only magnified when he cuts through a horde of skilled, but significantly inferior fighters. With the mercenaries crumpled on the ground, their bodies stained and broken, the gleam of Anakin’s power burns even brighter.

Out of everything, and above all of Anakin’s prowess and each mesmerizing inch of him, there is one thing that awes Obi-Wan more than anything else. His and Anakin’s synchronicity. Back-to-back, blades shining and bodies moving together without conscious thought. They are one in the Force and one together in that moment, no words are necessary, they are the perfect complementary half to the other.

What he doesn’t expect, and what the presence of others has meant they’ve never been able to do before, is for Anakin to reach behind himself, find Obi-Wan’s thigh with his flesh hand and give it a tight squeeze before he charges away and into more mercenaries.

Force.

As predicted, it's the number of them that's the challenge rather than any considerable skill any of them possess. He takes one side whilst Anakin takes the other, and soon enough the ill prepared group of mercenaries begins to dwindle. Expectedly, only a dozen or so remain when some within their ranks begin falling to their knees, pleading for mercy. 

Obi-Wan obliges of course, and privately grieves those who didn’t also do so sooner. With the mercenaries still staring down the edge of his blade, he quickly comms the Coruscant guard, requesting support and briefly confirming that they’ll be having new guests at Coruscant’s high-security prison. Once done, he seeks Anakin out. He finds him fighting two mercenaries, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead and his face alive with exhilaration. 

Across the commotion, Anakin senses the need of his gaze and turns to meet it. Impossibly, their eyes never break, even as Anakin impedes his two opponents with efficient slashes of his blade. He finally glances away when his eyes flicker to something behind Obi-Wan and he suddenly extends his hand, forcefully swiping it through the air. Obi-Wan hurriedly looks behind himself and sees two mercenaries now crumpled on the floor, groaning against the invisible pressure that had effortlessly chucked them aside.

Obi-Wan scowls, he should have sensed them coming. 

They’re gathering the remaining mercenaries when members of the Coruscant guard arrive, swiftly helping them apprehend those still standing. With a succinct explanation to Lieutenant Thire, he and Anakin make their way inside the building, quickly locating the engineer by the black mist of fear clouding the Force. He’s attempting to stand tall, back straight and an expression falsely brave, but the shaking of his limbs and curdling fear around them forsakes him. 

With sudden fury, Anakin stalks over to the engineer, grabs the back of his neck and tosses him against the wall, his still humming lightsaber directed at his neck. “Do you enjoy making weapons for the Separatists?” he snarls. “Killing hundreds of thousands of innocents.”

“They would have killed me,” the man implores. Anakin’s grip on his lightsaber only stiffens more so.

“It’s what you deserve,” Anakin threatens, face twisting horribly. And _this_ is the rage that Obi-Wan hates, a rage so potent that it makes his gut tighten in dread.

Faster than he thought possible, he’s by Anakin’s side, laying a calming hand on his bicep. Almost delirious eyes snap over to his, the fog of fury retreating so that only the familiar, kind blue remains.

“Anakin, it’s okay,” he vows softly. 

With fierce resolve and gentle pressure he guides Anakin’s lightsaber down. Anakin looks conflicted, torn between his soothing words and his own sense of belief. Slowly, he takes a step back, allowing Obi-Wan to take his place.

With two fingers raised, Obi-Wan sweeps them in an arc in front of the man's terrified face. “Tell us who you were meant to meet,” he says firmly.

Imperceptibly, the man shakes his head, his eyes opening and closing rapidly. “I-I…” Obi-Wan purses his lips, fighting the man’s mind, he tries again. “Tell us who you were meant to meet,” he repeats forcibly. 

The engineers shoulders slump and a dreamlike quality crosses his face, the cloying fear of before replaced by disquieting tranquillity. “I was to meet with a representative from Geonosis,” the man says thickly, and with his brows ever so slightly furrowed.

“Why?” Obi-Wan asks steadily.

“They’re looking to recruit engineers,” he informs them hazily.

“What for?” he insists, aware of Anakin moving into his peripheral and watching him closely.

The man’s face scrunches in resistance and sweat begins sliding down his temple. “Tell me,” Obi-Wan demands, body flushing when a sharp, acute sensation of heat sparks through his and Anakin’s bond.

The engineer has a more stubborn will than most, but eventually, he acquiesces, “They’re building a new weapon.” Obi-Wan almost rolls his eyes at the frustratingly obvious statement, but he perseveres, desperately trying to focus whilst simultaneously being recipient to a strange fervour currently radiating from Anakin in waves. “What new weapon?” he presses determinedly.

“I don’t know,” the man replies, eyes murky.

Obi-Wan considers him for a moment, “How many engineers are they recruiting?”

“I’m not sure. Though, I know at least ten others who have been approached.” Unprompted, his head snaps over to look at Anakin in alarm, where he’s greeted with an equally fearful expression.

He’s about to ask more when sudden uproar outside the building draws his attention away and the distinct whizz of blaster fire echoes throughout the room. Anakin is already bounding away and joining the fray before he can say anything, so with a huff of acceptance he grabs the disorientated engineer. He stumbles a little and stares at Obi-Wan in bafflement before realisation encroaches upon his face, “They’ll kill me if they find out I told you anything,” he murmurs, face resigned. 

The quiet declaration tugs at Obi-Wan’s heart strings and he’s tempted to offer words of consolation, but he’s unable to. He’s too bitter by this man’s role in the war, too unsympathetic to his situation when his actions have caused the deaths of thousands. Disgrace prickles along the nape of his neck as a result, before the war he would have been able to. It appears the war has changed him more than he would like to admit. 

Cautiously, they venture outside. They’re immediately accosted by a round of blaster fire and it’s only thanks to his fast reflexes that he manages to pull them both down in time, barely dodging multiple blaster bolts as they pummel the wall behind them. Somewhere close by he hears Anakin snarl a loud expletive on his behalf and rather inappropriately, it makes liquid warmth pool low in his stomach.

Maintaining his hold on the man’s wrists with one hand, Obi-Wan calls his lightsaber to the palm of his other, turning his blade on and deflecting bolts as they travel down the barely lit alley to the awaiting Coruscant police gunship. The man drags his feet stubbornly and Obi-Wan tugs on his wrists harder, grunting in frustration, “Come on.”

Despite the distracting crackle of his blade being struck repeatedly, Obi-Wan doesn’t miss the nervous swallow of the man’s throat or swivel of his head towards the new, additional mercenaries. “Don’t even think about it,” Obi-Wan warns, his cheeks beginning to tint red in exertion. The man opens his mouth to reply with what Obi-Wan is sure is some ridiculous excuse, but before he can have the chance, Obi-Wan interrupts him, “They’re not here to help you anymore,” he explains, nodding out towards the mercenaries that are currently fighting Anakin and the Coruscant guard. 

“You think th-that they’ll hurt me,” the man splutters. “They’re here to protect me!”

Obi-Wan groans in vexation, the ricochet of shots becoming less frequent as they move further away. “They _were_ ,” he scorns rigidly. “Now you’re in the hands of the Republic and neither your employers or potential employers will be happy about that. As you said, they’ll want to kill you. Why not start now?”

All colour drains from the engineers face, his complexion suddenly turning pallid and sickly. Thankfully, Obi-Wan’s harsh words seem to resonate and he hurries his footsteps along, almost dragging Obi-Wan to the nearby gunship in his rush to get away from the relentless fighting. When they arrive, Obi-Wan hurriedly opens the side hatchet and shoves the engineer inside, ignoring him when he lets out a frantic, “Wait, aren’t you coming—“ and instead shouting to the pilot, “Take him to Coruscant prison, they’re awaiting his arrival.” With a final look at the man’s petrified face, Obi-Wan shuts the door on him and promptly runs back to the fight, a ball of worry congealing in his gut. 

It’s completely unnecessary of course. When he arrives Anakin has a hand raised, two mercenaries rising with his will before being chucked against a shabby wall with an audible crack, the noise reverberates further when Anakin lifts them again and once more flings them aside. For good measure, he cuts them down with a sure and steady swipe of his blade as he walks past, ensuring that that’s where they’ll stay. Anakin is grim and efficient as he moves, barely having to try as the few remaining mercenaries attempt to rise. With a mere flick of his wrist blasters are chucked aside and bodies are restrained ramrod straight, waiting for a Coruscant guard to come along and put cuffs on them.

Obi-Wan finds himself immobile as he watches. It’s inexplicable, he’s seen such skill from Anakin before. Yet for whatever reason, he’s unable to look away from the fatal fluidity in which Anakin moves. Obi-Wan supposes that it’s because he’s usually distracted fighting alongside Anakin, now though, he gets to see the lethal ease in how Anakin wields the Force.

This isn’t the first time such a thing has happened, throughout his training Obi-Wan had on a number of occasions been struck still by the impossible potential of his Padawan. It never fails to be any less humbling, to be able to witness the legendary yet palpable power that Anakin possesses. 

A treacherous, heart wrenching thought sneaks in as he stares: if he and Anakin were to ever battle one another, and not via sparring, but actually faced each other as enemies...it makes him want to vomit and he swiftly shoves the thought away. 

That will never happen, he loves Anakin too much to ever raise his blade against him. His heart would surely disintegrate into ashes if he had to do so.

Shaking his head, he refocuses and does so just in time to block some blaster fire that shoots at him wildly. As he expertly swerves and diverts multiple shots, Anakin bestows him with a wild, intoxicated grin. His chest is heaving and his mouth is open, panting, lips parted just wide enough that Obi-Wan can see the slightest hint of his pink tongue. 

A knowing eyebrow is arched his way before Anakin once again raises his hand, this time jerking it into a fist and halting the red bolts flying through the air towards Obi-Wan. Effortlessly, Anakin directs them downwards, the projectiles striking the ground and surrounding walls with a recognisable thud. The smell of singed ferrocrete fills Obi-Wan’s senses as he watches the three remaining mercenaries drop their blasters to the floor and raise their hands in surrender. Anakin holds himself tall, walking over towards them with concentrated, calculated steps and standing before them unchallenged. His lightsaber hums by his side, almost as threatening as the inexorable glower on his face. 

None dares to confront him. Their hands remain raised and their eyes torn between fear and disbelief, until they’re cuffed and Anakin eventually lets out a quiet huff, his eyes narrowing in momentary deliberation before extinguishing his blade.

Obi-Wan follows his lead, unable to look away as Anakin murmurs dryly, “That wasn’t too hard, was it?”

It’s received with grunts of assent from his unfortunate adversaries, whereby Anakin chucks them a blinding, pleased grin. His previous animosity evaporating as quickly as Coruscant’s mist. 

_So mercurial..._ Obi-Wan thinks. _And he’s all the more alluring because of it._

***

Rounding up the mercenaries takes longer than Obi-Wan had anticipated. For some reason, every passing moment seems to hover around him with an unfamiliar pressure. They hadn’t been expecting the second round of mercenaries and so he, Anakin and the Coruscant guard are left waiting until more police speeders arrive. When they do arrive, organizing the prisoners so that they’re separated from any potential allies proves arduous and coordinating between the police, the Coruscant guard and themselves ends up requiring a lot of conversation and negotiating. 

Obi-Wan finds himself restless, hands unusually excitable. He isn’t usually one to get swept up in the frenzy of a mission and it makes him feel like a youngling lost in wonderment after witnessing their first lightsaber duel. Obi-Wan isn’t oblivious enough to attribute it to the firefight, but acknowledging the actual cause of his unrest threatens the possibility of it getting worse.

As expected, the threat of it doesn’t actually stop him from thinking about the source. Anakin. Him and Anakin fighting side by side, one with the Force. Anakin, smirking and breathless. Anakin, formidable yet oddly charming. Anakin, Anakin, Anakin…

Anakin who is currently helping workers of the Coruscant emergency services load their speeders with injured mercenaries. He doesn’t use the Force for this, simply carries those he can and places them on a prepared stretcher, hesitantly watching over the medics as they begin hastily healing what they can and then flying away, their distinct sirens blaring out as they traverse through Coruscant’s never quiet skies. It’s gripping to see the changing nature of Anakin’s character at play, kindly watching over those who have been hurt despite being the one to have inflicted the damage. 

Then again, Obi-Wan can’t say he’s surprised, he’s never met a more temperamental person than Anakin. As his Padawan Obi-Wan had found it onerous, now though...now he finds it thrilling. He keeps thinking about the way Anakin had grinned at him in the middle of mayhem, about how the Force yielded to his whims so freely, about the sweat that had been running down his neck…

Even as he’s talking to Lieutenant Thire he feels Anakin’s gaze snap over to him, feels the way his eyes roam his body, scrutinizing him with a small smirk. Obi-Wan does his best not to shift. It’s far more difficult than it should be. Anakin knows him too well, and although his shields are firmly in place, somehow Anakin can still read him nonetheless.

Placing the final injured mercenary on a stretcher, Anakin walks over to him and the Lieutenant, his steps confident and at ease as he smiles at Obi-Wan furtively. “That was some fight. He’s one hell of a Jedi, General,” Lieutenant Thire tells him as Anakin joins them. Obi-Wan nods softly in agreement, “I know,” he replies, voice consciously stiff. Anakin looks at him, his face briefly uncertain, before his lips curve into a smile and the fleeting glimpse of a flush forms on his cheeks. He ducks his head, his soft curls falling forwards to partly cover his face, and Obi-Wan...well, the sight makes his stomach tighten in excitement.

And judging by the glint in Anakin’s eyes, Obi-Wan is absolutely certain that Anakin knows it.

***

They don’t end up leaving the scene until after midnight, after hours of talking, explaining and waiting, he and Anakin finally make their way to their speeder. Obi-Wan requests to fly, he’s still a bit on edge and needs something to do with his hands. There’s also the reasoning that he really doesn’t feel like being victim to Anakin’s chaotic flying at the moment. Curiously, Anakin assents without his typical grumble, instead sitting beside Obi-Wan silently. Even though the night life of Coruscant is still alive with noise and wind whips past his ears furiously, the sudden seclusion of him and Anakin within such a cramped space creates a small pocket of stillness. Their confinement makes his mind wander, remembering the sight of Anakin flawlessly cutting down his opponents, his eyes heady and alight with adrenaline.

Ironically, he’s so distracted that he misses the sound of Anakin calling his name multiple times, and it takes a firm _Master_ before he’s brought back to the present. Obi-Wan turns slightly in his seat to regard Anakin, the wind is whipping his curls around his face and the night air cold enough to tint his tan complexion with a red blush. “You missed the turning,” Anakin says amusedly. 

“Oh,” he replies thinly.

Obi-Wan looks forward once more, although he doesn’t miss Anakin cocking his head as he flagrantly examines him. Obi-Wan bites his lip, furiously trying not to squirm under Anakin’s gaze.

“Do you know the fastest route to get back?” Anakin asks, voice indifferent.

“Yes,” he says stiffly. “I’m going to go round quarter 98.”

Anakin nods and his brows furrow slightly in contemplation. He shifts slightly on his seat, his flesh hand reaching across to Obi-Wan’s thigh, where his palm lays flat and his fingers rest decidedly close to the inseam of his trousers. 

“Okay,” Anakin intones, his hand squeezing Obi-Wan’s thigh. The touch is light, more a caress, and Obi-Wan’s mouth suddenly feels dry.

“If you want us to get there reasonably soon then you’re going to have to go faster,” Anakin observes, the tips of his fingers moving to trace along his inseam. The gesture is purposefully idle, Anakin attempting to make it come across as thoughtless. But he knows Anakin better than that, fingers follow the dips and creases of the hem with obvious resolve. Anakin’s movements are slow and certain.

Obi-Wan grips the controls in a white knuckle hold, his heart thudding in his ears. “You know that’s not necessary,” Obi-Wan states, employing all of his Jedi control to keep his voice level.

“Why not?” Anakin challenges, each upward stroke of his fingers creeping higher.

Obi-Wan huffs. Anakin knows why not, whenever he gets in any kind of flying vehicle he has a tendency to fly it as hard and fast as possible and he usually does so with an intoxicating laugh on his lips. The one thing Obi-Wan doesn’t need right now is to go speeding through Coruscant’s skies and to look over and see the thrilling sight of an exhilarated Anakin. Force knows that it would probably be the tipping point of a night where he’s already been constantly on edge.

Instead, the awful excuse he comes up with is, “Because not everything needs to be taken hard and fast.”

Silence greets his words for a minuscule of a second before Anakin quietly hums, a distinct note of disagreement in the noise. The hand on his thigh twitches, then curves more so around the muscle and squeezes it firmly.

Obi-Wan realizes the error of his words too late and even though he knows so, it does nothing to soften the gut wrenching blow Anakin deals him.

“But you know that’s how I like it,” Anakin responds smoothly, dragging his fingers increasingly higher. “You know I can take it.”

_Force._

Obi-Wan’s face flames and his groin aches. He purposely keeps his body utterly still and his eyes focused ahead. And he almost suppresses the shiver that runs through him when Anakin lets out a quiet, tempting laugh.

“You know exactly how well I can take it,” Anakin repeats ruthlessly. “Do you want to show me? You know I’ll be good for you.” 

Obi-Wan very nearly groans aloud at the words. He wants nothing more than to take that offer, he could grab those sly fingers and place them where he knows Anakin wants them, he could park the speeder somewhere deserted and show Anakin how good he knows he can be. Or he could even grab Anakin’s wild curls and drag his head down, see how well he _takes_ it, hard and fast—and none would know, the skies are busy but empty enough that they wouldn’t be disturbed. 

He can’t. They both know that they can’t. They can’t risk being caught.

He’s too busy with his internal battle of wills to notice Anakin moving to the edge of his seat, his body leaning over as his flesh hand is replaced by his mechno hand and the former rises to Obi-Wan’s neck. Deft fingers hook on the edge of his under tunic and pull it down, exposing more of his skin, and plenty enough for Anakin to press his mouth against with a pleased noise of approval.

Obi-Wan lets out a low, lingering moan, temporarily persuaded to give into temptation. Anakin’s tongue brushes against his throat in a warm, wet press and his eyelashes flutter in pleasure, already so close to falling apart.

“Careful, _Master_.” Anakin chuckles cheekily, the continued use of that title so full of innuendo that Obi-Wan feels his face bloom an even darker shade of red. Force help him. “You’re deviating,” Anakin murmurs with a slightly rough voice, and that promptly snaps him back to attention. 

Thankfully, he hasn’t drifted from their allocated lane too drastically. Though, that doesn’t make it any less alarming, or more particularly, embarrassing that Anakin is so easily able to unravel him. No matter how often he and Anakin are intimate together, the hot, incessant desire that Obi-Wan feels never seems to abate. It churns at the base of spine persistently, just waiting for a moment to strike.

Running his flesh hand through his knotted hair, Anakin pulls back, a triumphant smile on his lips. Obi-Wan can’t find it within himself to care, not when his side feels so terribly cold. Almost empty without Anakin pressed alongside it. 

“We’re not too far now,” Anakin says. Obi-Wan glances over at him quickly, he almost appears impassive to the tension between them, but when their eyes meet there’s no denying the ferocity of his gaze.

“I still think you should fly a little bit faster, Master. After all, we want to get home, don’t we?”

***

It’s late when they arrive at the Jedi Temple and more than anything Obi-Wan desperately wishes that he and Anakin could immediately go to his quarters. Unfortunately, similarly to Coruscant, the Jedi Council never sleeps. There are always a handful of Masters awake at such a time, whether that be due to their nocturnal cycles or to receive the reports from Jedi placed off-world. Of course, Obi-Wan knows this better than anyone, just two nights ago it was his rotation to be one of those Masters, however, that doesn’t stop his less than eager attitude. 

And although he can acknowledge that his uncharacteristic selfishness is a rarity and really not that bad, it doesn’t stop him from feeling guilty over his ever increasing resentfulness as he and Anakin make their way to the Council Chamber. He doesn’t want to be here, he wants him and Anakin in bed. He wants to be surrounded by hot, wet heat. 

Obi-Wan is barely able to keep his shameless impulses hidden and apparently it’s pointless anyway, the dark, heated gaze Anakin keeps chucking his way tells him that he knows exactly what he’s thinking. Any inclination he’s currently feeling is forestalled even more so when they arrive at the Council Chamber and are informed that Master Windu and Master Tiin are currently receiving an off-world report and therefore, he and Anakin must wait until they’re called inside. 

The frustrated groan he lets out is entirely unbecoming of a Jedi Master and he’s extremely thankful that none else is nearby to witness his slowly crumbling self. Anakin is a few short steps away from him, leaning back against a wall and with his long legs crossed in front of him. 

Obi-Wan attempts to observe him as discreetly as possible, he’s been so preoccupied by his longing that he had almost forgotten about his earlier apprehension. Shame stirs in his gut, not from having allowed himself to be distracted, but from having had such thoughts in the first place. The distressing rage that lingers in Anakin’s soul is still present, yet it is nowhere near the ferocity, or regularity, of just a year ago. Anakin has been able to temper his anger, as he’s always hoped for, and he’s regretful that he didn’t perceive so sooner. Of course, he’s always known that Anakin was capable of doing so, only the past year has meant that Anakin has had to _do_ and not simply _try._ How else would he have been able to train a Padawan in the middle of a galaxy wide war and be responsible for the welfare of thousands of men? 

Anakin has realised everything Obi-Wan has hoped for—and more. Tonight has been but the final confirmation of an opinion already surmised. Admittedly, Anakin is often still brash and reckless and emotional, but he has also become accomplished and adept in situations that would have previously outraged him. There is still much for him to learn, yet there’s no denying what he’s achieved. 

Thick, syrupy, warmth unfurls throughout Obi-Wan’s body at the thought—maturity and experience suits Anakin and he likes it a lot more than he’d realised. 

When Anakin’s wandering gaze turns to him, he tries to compose his features into a look of poise, however he doesn’t need to be astute to know that it’s unnecessary—Anakin has already felt his affection leak into the Force around them. Fondness is open and obvious on his face and Anakin’s endearing look of pleased embarrassment only adds fuel to his blazing desire. And because Anakin has always enjoyed testing the boundaries of his limits, he gives him a wide grin before his tongue comes out to slowly swipe across his lips, followed by his thumb rising and deliberately dragging across the now wet flesh.

Obi-Wan swallows thickly and his hands clench restlessly by his sides. His breathing seems oddly shallow in the stillness of the hallway and his heart thuds in his ears, sharp and jarring in its urgency. His declining patience must nearly be up because he moves to take a step towards Anakin— 

“Master Kenobi,” Master Tiin greets him, turning to look at Anakin with a nod of his head, “Master Skywalker, we’re able to see you now.”

The distinct baritone of the Jedi Master stops him in his tracks, his stomach sinking in utter disbelief and his courage deflating as quickly as it had arrived.

“Perhaps we should come back tomorrow, Master Tiin. It’s quite late and Anakin and I could use some rest,” he suggests, turning to look at the Iktotchi. The request is entirely unlike him, but when it comes to him and Anakin he has never done what was expected.

The Jedi Master frowns at him. “That’s not necessary and you’re both here now anyway,” he says bluntly.

To his side, Anakin covers his mouth with his hand in an attempt to hide the twitch of his lips. Obi-Wan ignores it and the obvious mirth in Anakin’s eyes.

Leisurely, Anakin moves to stand by his side, a hand coming up to rest on his shoulder and grip it lightly. Even that outwardly innocent touch is enough to fluster him, and he’s immensely grateful when Anakin responds on his behalf.

“Of course, Master. I guess that Master Kenobi is just more tired than he would have us all believe,” Anakin says, tone tilted, teasing.

Master Tiin looks between the two of them, a small smile on his lips. “Very well.” The Jedi Master turns away, and they both follow after him. As they move Anakin’s hand falls from his shoulder and Obi-Wan shoves down the urge to grab it and place it back there once again.

***

The debriefing is a new level of torment.

Anakin stands by his side, and despite there being an appropriate amount of distance between them, Obi-Wan can almost imagine phantom hands on him. They’re close enough that Anakin wouldn’t even have to lean to touch him, he could place a hand on the bottom of his back or on the nape of his neck with ease. He doesn’t of course, Anakin keeps his hands in front of himself, folded within his robes, similarly to himself, and where Master’s Windu and Tiin can see them. 

Being so close and unable to touch is a taunt Obi-Wan can barely stand and so his mind conjures up images for all that he’s being denied. Images of frantic hands and desperate moans, poor attempts to fill in the gnawing ache of his own repressed, unrelenting longing. He contains himself of course, by now his yearning has become an agonizing regularity and so he knows exactly how to control himself. However, it never gets any easier. The all consuming urge to pull Anakin into his arms and to draw needy, breathless moans from his mouth is almost too much. Every time he collects himself with the knowledge that the debriefing can’t last forever and that once they’re back in his quarters they’ll have the whole night to indulge themselves. 

Master Windu looks as focused as always, his dark eyes considering the both of them sternly. “It’s good to see you both back and to know that you were successful on your mission,” Master Windu says. “We’ve spoken with Lieutenant Thire whilst you were making your way back to the Temple. Skywalker, the Lieutenant informed me that your skills were greatly appreciated in defeating the mercenaries. It appears we were right in choosing you for this mission.”

Anakin glows at the praise, his Force signature tinging a liquid gold, more vibrant than ever because the praise is coming from Master Windu. He bends his head slightly in recognition, his long lashes fluttering against his high cheekbones and a shy smile forming on his lips. It’s the most demure he’s seen Anakin all evening and Obi-Wan’s heart twists at the sight. For all of his natural combativeness there remains a bashful, nervous aspect of Anakin’s character that Obi-Wan will never tire of seeing. 

In the face of Anakin’s bravado he often overlooks the insecurities that still endure in Anakin’s core. In moments like these he’s reminded of Anakin’s need for recognition—a continued persistence for him to be appreciated and accepted amongst his peers. It often saddens Obi-Wan greatly. Anakin should be confident of the knowledge that he is loved by all at the Temple and if necessary, Obi-Wan will work until the end of time until Anakin is sure of that fact.

Briefly, Obi-Wan wonders if any other Jedi are as impressed as he is when he gets to watch Anakin in action. He knows that many recognise the power and skill he holds, but he can’t recall anyone else being as awe struck in his company, except from Ahsoka perhaps. Though, he supposes he is biased in matters relating to Anakin.

“Master Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan whips his head over to Master Tiin and sees the room's other occupants all watching him. Master Tiin and Master Windu with expressions of perplexion and Anakin blatantly trying not to laugh, biting at his lip furiously and his eyes glittering with mischief. 

“My apologies, Master Tiin,” he manages, the tips of his ears reddening. “What was the question?”

“We asked for your debriefing on your encounter with the engineer.”

With a nod of his head, Obi-Wan begins recounting their mission and only occasionally stumbles in his retelling when his eyes instinctively look across to Anakin. 

***

When the debriefing ends, he and Anakin practically run back to his quarters. Their steps hurried and their expressions purposefully blank, deterring any of the few Jedi still awake from approaching them. Anticipation electrifies the air between them and he wonders if it permeates the Force enough so that if they were approached there would be no denying what’s going on.

With orders from Master's Windu and Tiin that they visit Coruscant prison in the morning and continue their questioning of the engineer, his original belief that he and Anakin would have hours to satisfy themselves has been swiftly rendered incorrect. Neither of them seem to care though, they've carried out significantly more dangerous missions on much less sleep. 

Anakin doesn’t say a single word along the way, either he’s feeling too smug and knows he doesn’t need to or he’s as impatient as Obi-Wan. However, it appears he thought so too soon. The door has barely shut behind them in his quarters when Anakin looks at him with bright blue eyes and a teasing leer, “It’s been a long night, you must be tired, old man. Ready to go to bed?”

 _Oh,_ this man. This insufferable, magnetic, wonderful man.

He grabs the front of Anakin’s tabards and with firm, calculated movements walks him backwards until his back is flush against the wall. Anakin beams at him, his cheeks dimpling and teeth showing, the sight is enough to leave him breathless and his captivation must show on his face because Anakin murmurs innocently, “Oh, didn’t you want to go to sleep?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t deign him with an answer, instead he kicks Anakin’s legs apart, forcing his stance wide, and shoves a leg between his thighs. Head chucked back against the wall and back arching forwards, Anakin breaths a shaky moan, his hands coming up to clasp Obi-Wan’s shoulders. Impossibly, Anakin’s grin only widens, now accompanied with dramatically widened eyes. 

Satisfaction hums beneath his skin at the sight, pleased to finally see Anakin in a similar state to what he himself has been in all day: eager and wanting. “You’re impossible,” he utters frankly, pushing his thigh down harder and leaning forward, pining Anakin under the weight of his body. “Why am I so enamoured with someone so impossible?”

Anakin lets out a soft, airy laugh, the noise coming out stilted whilst he also moans, head tipped back and groin grinding down onto Obi-Wan’s thigh. Looking forwards once again, Anakin levels him with an impish grin, “Is that what you’ve been thinking about all day?” he asks, voice both a taunt and hinted with intrigue. “Is that what you were thinking about when you were staring at me?” 

A blush forms on Obi-Wan’s cheeks, but his embarrassment at having been caught is insignificant in comparison to his desire. “Yes, but not just that,” he affirms roughly, running a slow, steady hand down Anakin’s slightly heaving chest. “I was also thinking about how incredible you are, how those mercenaries never stood a chance.”

Anakin’s lips part in surprise and his grin disappears as Obi-Wan’s words sink in. His face softens and is instead replaced with a look of utmost adoration. Sometimes, Obi-Wan still finds it difficult confessing such overt affection—after all, an innate teaching is hard to put aside, but the happiness on Anakin’s face always makes it worth it. 

Using the distraction to his advantage, Obi-Wan pulls back his leg and replaces it with his hand instead, cupping the hard length of Anakin in his palm. Anakin gasps, his hips thrusting into the firm pressure of Obi-Wan pressing down with the heel of his palm. 

“You’re indescribable, darling.” As he knew it would, the endearment colours Anakin’s Force signature a rouge red, urgent and sensual. It results in the whispering of his name, uttered low and laced with devotion. “Sometimes, it’s hard to believe that you even exist,” Obi-Wan murmurs, unable to stop now that he’s started. “Sometimes, I can’t believe that I get to have you in my life, that I get to spend it with you, like this—“

He doesn’t look away from Anakin as he speaks, too bewitched by his boundless eyes and unending trust. Obi-Wan bites at his lip as he works away at the ties of Anakin’s trousers, fiddling with the strings as Anakin squirms and digs blunt fingertips into his shoulders. They both groan softly when Obi-Wan reaches inside and pulls his cock free, but he doesn’t grip it or fall to his knees as he usually would. 

Rather, he takes in the sight of the hard length, swollen and darkly flushed, already streaming rivulets of precome. It looks remarkably explicit in its contrast to the soft fabric of Anakin’s Jedi robes. 

“Look at you—“ Obi-Wan says quietly, feeling Anakin’s head rest against his as he too glances down to look at himself. “You’re already so wet for me. I didn’t even have to do anything, did I, darling?”

He watches, fascinated, as his words cause Anakin’s cock to jolt and leak so profusely that precome begins pooling in the wirly, golden curls that Obi-Wan can see peaking through his trousers. Anakin’s head thumps back against the wall, his chest heaving as he lets out a rough and desperate, “Obi-Wan— _Obi-Wan._ ” 

Obi-Wan memorizes his expression: lips parted, cheeks tinted red and impossibly bright eyes, the usual blue slowly being eclipsed by black. “Master,” Anakin implores, hips jerking forward uselessly. Wild, sudden arousal flares at the title and he has to deliberately calm himself before he pounces on Anakin and the night ends a lot sooner than he planned. He shouldn’t like the use of his former title as much as he does, but it’s useless denying the visceral reaction it provokes within himself, Anakin already knows how much it excites him. 

With a calculatingly steady tone, he dryly replies, “Yes? Do you want me to touch you? Do you think you deserve it after you’ve been teasing me all day?”

Unbelievably, Anakin laughs. “You liked it,” he says, brows rising in defiance. “Don’t even try and den—“ 

Obi-Wan slips two fingers into Anakin’s mouth, effectively cutting him off. Unsurprisingly, Anakin rises to the challenge. Closing his lips, he sucks, tongue lathing around the flesh and cheeks hollowing obscenely. This may have been the wrong gesture to get Anakin to stop talking, Obi-Wan thinks. It only makes him think of where he’d much rather have that warm, welcoming mouth. Anakin isn’t making it any easier for him either, he sucks on the fingers with greedy fervor, hazy eyes beckoning him to come closer and Obi-Wan’s arousal spikes. But when those lips begin sliding in a too close imitation of what Obi-Wan really wants it’s too much, with an incensed groan he pulls his fingers away, his cock somehow getting harder at the luridly loud wet _pop_ that the action generates. 

“None else is going to tease you,” Anakin comments, licking away the spit on his lips and carrying on as though he hadn’t just been suggestively sucking on his fingers. “They all think you’re too serious, but I know you’re not,” he tilts his head in consideration, “and Ahsoka too, probably.”

Obi-Wan groans in chagrin, “Don’t mention Ahsoka right now.”

Anakin lets out a loud, deep laugh. The type that makes his head tip back, eyes crinkle and shoulders shake, his presence in the Force a vivid incandescent light. It may be the most glorious sight Obi-Wan has ever seen. Well, it’s either that or Anakin in the throes of fighting, he’s undecided. Actually, there may be one thing that he loves to see more than anything else. And that’s Anakin with his legs shaking, mouth slack and eyes rolled back in pleasure. _Oh,_ Obi-Wan groans, yes, that’s definitely his most preserved memory of all. 

He wants to see that, and soon, so with renewed determination he abruptly wraps his hand around Anakin’s cock. Anakin is wet enough that his hand glides down smoothly, moving in one long, slow stroke before sliding back up with an experienced twist once he reaches the stiff head. Anakin’s jubilant laugh is immediately replaced by a guttural groan that’s louder than usual—Anakin unable to help the pitch of it after his rich laugh, yet it makes Obi-Wan’s breath hitch, nonetheless. 

“Like I said, _impossible_ ,” he reaffirms, his thumb rubbing over the slick head of Anakin’s cock. Anakin’s flesh hand comes up to card through his hair, gently pulling on the slightly sweaty strands.

Obi-Wan can’t help but see similarities to the first time he and Anakin had come together like this, the feel of Anakin in his hand and the elated atmosphere that encases them. How his head feels fuzzy, a firm pressure at the base of his skull that swells with each second he gets to have Anakin in his arms. How warmth surges through his veins at the knowledge that he gets to touch. Urgent and insistent, and by now, familiar, but nevertheless as electrifying as always.

He watches Anakin intently as he strokes him, enraptured by the subtleties of his pleasure; eyes fluttering before they drift shut, bitten lips parted and with a tongue swiping across them on every other panting breath. Involuntarily, Obi-Wan’s next exhale is accompanied with a slight shuddering sound, and he’s reminded, as he often is in these moments, that he could watch Anakin like this forever. Even as roiled up as he is and has been all day, his arousal a continuous ache, it becomes unimportant as Anakin shakes underneath him—peaceful. Anakin is finally at peace. And that means more to him than his own trivial wants.

Like this, Anakin is simultaneously exposed and resolute. His cock uncovered and hips rhythmically fucking into Obi-Wan’s fist, but his presence in the Force unwavering, a source of vigour that Obi-Wan has never felt elsewhere. Edged with sweat, knuckles whitening in Obi-Wan’s hair and needy moans crawling forth from his throat, Anakin is the embodiment of lust and Obi-Wan is powerless against him. 

Swallowing thickly, Anakin manages a few stuttered words, “Obi-Wan, I’m—I’m…” he lets out a soft, self-deprecating laugh, “I’m probably going to come soon.”

Obi-Wan slows his pace immediately. After all, it hardly seems fair that after spending a whole day provoking him into a perpetual state of arousal that Anakin gets to come after only a few minutes. 

“ _No,_ ” Anakin bemoans weakly, hips jerking futilely into his now loose fist.

When he meets Anakin’s gaze there’s something unknown in his eyes. A question that they’ve never delved into before. Whenever he and Anakin come together, Obi-Wan normally caves before Anakin is able to get too desperate. He’s always been just as eager as Anakin—if Anakin wants to come, then of course he wants that too, and the sooner the better. Except today, there is a different type of need lingering between them. A need to make Anakin wait, to make him beg for it.

“Obi-Wan, come on,” Anakin groans in frustration. 

With an almost too tight grip, he gives the base of Anakin’s cock an admonishing squeeze. Anakin’s breath hitches in surprise, but before he can say anything about it, Obi-Wan removes his hand and instead brings it up to tug on his disorderly curls and drag his head back forcibly. Anakin emits a quiet hiss over the initial pain, then groans loudly when Obi-Wan presses his mouth to his bared throat, kissing over his hammering pulse, up to his ear and then along his sharp jawline, nipping and licking along the way.

Half blind from his face pressed into Anakin’s sweaty neck and unwilling to move, he pulls Anakin away from the wall with the firm hand still carded through his hair and begins walking them to his bedroom. Only possible due to his familiarity of his surroundings and Anakin’s obvious eagerness now that he knows where they’re going.

Once inside his room, he plucks himself away from Anakin’s neck and unexpectedly pushes him down onto the mattress. Anakin lets out an undignified squawk as he bounces onto it, something Obi-Wan is going to tease him about mercilessly later, before glaring up at Obi-Wan from where he sits with an indignant, yet nonetheless playful scowl. 

“You’re impossible,” Obi-Wan repeats, grabbing one of Anakin’s legs and working away at the buckles on his boot. When finished, he chucks it gracelessly to the floor, then grabs the other and copies his previous actions. His hands are steady and precise as they move, knowing exactly what he wants and how he’s going to get it. 

Anakin watches him hungrily, eyes roaming across his hands as he quips smugly, “Am I?” The question is unbelievably arrogant, so spectacularly _Anakin,_ that it both infuriates and excites him, so much so that he’s unable to do anything but lean over him and finally let their mouths meet in a hot, demanding kiss. Anakin lets out a surrendering moan of approval, quickly winding his hands through his hair in an attempt to keep him close, but Obi-Wan is already engaged elsewhere, drawing back so that he can begin working away at Anakin’s clothes.

Catching on, Anakin reciprocates, pulling at Obi-Wan’s tabards and tunics with acquainted, practiced hands. The thought makes his chest clinch slightly in satisfaction. Of course, Anakin knows how to remove Jedi robes efficiently because of his own usage, yet the pattern and method he uses to remove Obi-Wan’s is one born from familiarity. This is something that they’ve done for each other many times and Obi-Wan hopes there will be countless more times to come.

Obi-Wan has to pull back so that he can take everything off properly, and when he re-joins Anakin on the bed, they’re both bare and swiftly intertwined. With a hand cupping the back of his head, Anakin draws him into a pressing kiss, their tongues sliding together in a slow, deep glide. He’s so absorbed in it that he nearly misses the recognisable gesture of one of Anakin’s hands moving, followed by his bedside draw opening and the faint noise of movement from within. 

“That’s ina—”

“Don’t say it,” Anakin half murmurs, half chuckles against his jaw. Obi-Wan pulls away just in time to see a well used bottle of lube land beside them on the bed. 

He gives Anakin a deliberately flat stare, “Don’t you think that’s a bit presumptuous?”

It’s greeted with an unconcerned snort and a blatant effort by Anakin to not laugh at his attempt at teaching restraint. “No, we both know that you want to fuck me.”

“Perhaps I had other things planned,” he lies, pulling back onto his knees and staring down at a flushed Anakin.

Anakin considers him for a moment, before a frightening glint steals across his face. Slowly, he twitches his hips upwards and slides his feet against the sheets below, suggestively spreading his legs. “Please?” Anakin begs. “I want it so bad, _please,_ Master.”

 _Oh_ — _“_ Fuck,” he whispers. His treacherous cock betrays him, jerking fiercely at the words and beginning to trail pearlescent beads down the hard length. Hearing Anakin beg is more than he can handle.

Snatching up the bottle, he coats his fingers generously and settles between Anakin’s legs, pushing them further apart with a rough hand. He doesn’t dare glance up at Anakin, knowing full well that he’d only be met with a smug smile. Apparently though, Anakin is unable to give him even a minute of silence. “We should do this in a speeder sometime soon,” he suggests quietly. 

Given what happened earlier the suggestion is more than tempting and he’s sure Anakin knows so. When he only hums in reply, Anakin persists with absolute relentlessness, “We wouldn’t be able to do this, obviously.” Silence encompasses them then and so he glances up, promptly realising that Anakin had been waiting to catch his eye before continuing, “But I’d be able to climb into your lap. I’d ride you so hard and deep—”

Obi-Wan cuts him off by running slick fingers over his hole, not pushing inside just yet, but lingering. Anakin gasps in anticipation, his legs instinctively spreading wider. Leisurely, his fingers rub against the firm, sensitive muscle, watching Anakin’s cock jump each time he presses that bit harder, taunting him with what he wants. 

“Darling,” Obi-Wan murmurs softly. “You're not being very fair, I thought you said you’d be good for me,” he says, referencing Anakin’s earlier words. 

Anakin shudders and his eyes blow impossibly wider. “I will,” he gasps. “I wanna be good—I’ll be _so_ good for you.”

Obi-Wan’s breath hitches at the promise. _Force_ —Anakin turns him on. So headstrong and contrary one moment and then so eager to please in the next. Obi-Wan wants to reward that desire to do right, to satisfy his partner, so he eases one finger inside and watches enthralled as Anakin lets out a long, drawn out moan in relief. 

There is some tension at first, obvious in the furrow of Anakin’s brows and the clench of his hands in the sheets beneath him. But his hips soon move in open encouragement, the tension of before bleeding away until Anakin’s body becomes pliant and welcoming of the smooth, slow glide of his finger opening him up. Obi-Wan always finds himself to be unusually greedy in these moments when they come together, taking great satisfaction in not being distracted by his own need, as he can be when he’s inside Anakin, but in being able to give Anakin his full attention.

And Anakin is truly a sight to behold. Golden skin is sheened with a light layer of sweat, glistening each time Anakin gently undulates his hips and his toned, blush tinted body rocks with the movement. Long legs supported by thick corded thighs are splayed indecently wide and broad, muscular shoulders lead to strong, lithe arms, tapering off on one side to a large, calloused hand and the other to an intricate mechanical display, Anakin’s prosthetic almost silent as it moves with its owner.

For what feels like the thousandth time he’s left thinking that he’s never seen someone so achingly attractive. Anakin is striking in a way that he’s unable to explain. “That’s good,” Anakin murmurs, wetting his lips with a quiet sound. “Another.”

Obi-Wan nearly obliges out of instinct, until he remembers the look that they had shared earlier. A look that hinted at the possibility of something new and unexplored, and positively thrilling. “Beg for it, Anakin,” he says softly, both a request and a demand. 

Anakin looks at him with excited, shining eyes as he whines desperately, “Please— _please,_ give me another, please, Obi-Wan.”

Heat floods his gut and he concedes, easing in a second finger. Anakin’s back arches off the bed and a hoarse groan echoes around the small room. Obi-Wan watches him throughout, eyes roaming as his fingers begin moving shallowly, hypnotized by Anakin’s heaving chest and the twitches of his legs as he shudders. With his spare hand he traces an adoring path across the tanned skin, stroking the scars that have begun littering Anakin’s body as the war progresses. 

The sight makes his heart clench. For all of Anakin’s bravery and the momentous weight of a prophecy placed upon his shoulders, he’s still flesh and blood, just like everyone else. Capable of hurting and being hurt, and Force knows that Anakin has experienced more loss than most. Obi-Wan wants to alleviate all those pains, the physical and emotional, and he’ll forever be grateful that Anakin trusts him enough to give him the opportunity to do so. None else has ever touched Anakin quite like this, with the sort of reverence he deserves. Some have put him on some sort of pedestal, where they watch him from afar, making him seem otherworldly and untouchable and sadly, only fuelling Anakin’s sense of isolation. 

To a certain extent, Obi-Wan understands. The sheer power that Anakin had exhibited tonight was only a fraction of his true capabilities, many find it intimidating and are therefore unable to reconcile that image with the one of Anakin here before him. But when he and Anakin are alone, Anakin doesn’t have to be cautious of intrigued whispers, he can simply be himself. 

Bending his head, Obi-Wan presses his lips to a small scar sitting on the curve of a hip. He maps the shape with his mouth, tongue lapping at the texture of rough, raised skin and kissing it with subtle, warm presses. He does this to all the scars he comes across, working his way up to Anakin’s toned chest and then back down, with Anakin cupping the back of his head all the while. Eventually, he wanders close to the rigid, flushed swell of Anakin’s cock, ignoring the threatening pulses it exhibits when his bated breath lingers over it and instead, drags his tongue through the pool of precome that has begun gathering in the dip of Anakin’s stomach. At the first taste he can’t help but release a low moan of approval, swiping his tongue back through the sticky mess and indulging himself in the heady taste.

A not too subtle tug on his hair attempts to guide him to where Anakin really wants him. He resists and lets out a muffled snicker when Anakin groans in defeat. 

“You’re cruel,” Anakin says shakily, yet his fingers still stroke through Obi-Wan’s hair tenderly. Head tilting to the side to gaze down at him, Anakin sighs, “Don’t tease me, I want to feel your mouth.”

Obi-Wan glares up at him, incredulous. _Him_ —teasing?! The hypocrisy of the statement is astounding and judging by the abrupt laugh Anakin lets out, his utter disbelief must be extremely obvious on his face. Eyes narrowing in retribution, he deliberately watches Anakin as he slowly curls his fingers inside of him. Anakin’s laughter falls away instantaneously and his face shifts into acute pleasure; eyes squeezing shut and mouth dropping open with a breathy gasp. 

His fingers stroke the slightly raised gland of Anakin’s prostate, dragging across it with deliberate intent and satisfaction curling within when Anakin’s body jolts at the sensation. “Obi-Wan, _ah_ —please,” Anakin whines, voice etched with untamed want. Hands grope at his shoulders, torn between pushing him away or pulling him closer.

Finally, Obi-Wan gets to give Anakin a smug smile of his own as he leans back and uses his spare hand to spread Anakin’s legs wider, giving him a better view as he eases a third finger inside. He likes to see it, the salacious, base allure of watching his slick knuckles sink repeatedly into this dark and intimate place on Anakin’s body that is solely his. It makes his blood sear with hunger, a scorching fire that warps his being with passion. 

Despite the enthusiasm of Anakin’s hips, Obi-Wan’s pace is languid, taking his time and absorbing all the ways Anakin reacts to each movement of his hand. There are no smart remarks, no moments of banter, Anakin has finally reached that place of near incoherency. He has his mechno hand clenched in the sheets below him and his flesh hand moving between clutching at his hair or dragging across his face as he gasps out a steady stream of _ah_ — _ah_ — _ahh,_ with every slow, full thrust. 

Occasionally, he purposefully curls his fingers just to see the dramatic arch of Anakin’s back and listen to the high pitched keen he releases. His pulse thuds as he watches Anakin slowly fall apart, perfectly happy to do this forever. However, Anakin doesn’t seem to agree—“Master, I...I—” he cries out loudly when Obi-Wan thrusts in hard, once, twice—his sweat slicked chest heaving, legs quivering and head shoved back forcefully, damp curls sticking to his forehead and neck as he writhes. 

Heavy lidded eyes latch on to his, desperate and pleading, “I need more, Obi-Wan— _please._ ” 

Obi-Wan’s breath stutters and through the foggy arousal clouding his mind, he admits to himself, that he is also on the verge of being overwhelmed. Drawing back his hand, he grabs the lube and slicks his heavy cock, groaning as Anakin’s eyes follow the action with a look of starvation. Obi-Wan doesn’t intend on keeping him waiting for long, he doesn’t think he’d be able to with the way Anakin is staring at him.

With a hold on Anakin’s hips he flips him onto his front, drawing himself down so that his coarse chest hair rubs against Anakin’s back and one arm wraps around his chest to pull him close. Obi-Wan’s cock slides against the wet heat of him, not pressing inside yet, just watching Anakin as he grinds his hips back desperately, trying to urge him closer. 

“ _Obi-Wa_ —” He interrupts Anakin’s urgent plea by pushing himself inside. He groans rough and deep as tight, slick heat grips him, as Anakin’s walls pulse around him when he instinctively clenches down on his length. He sinks inside slowly, listening to the long, low moan of relief coming from Anakin as he sheathes himself fully, his lip curling into a snarl of pleasure as he settles.

”Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he rasps, hand moving to Anakin’s damp curls and dragging his head back until his face rests snugly against his own. Anakin turns to look at him, baring his neck when Obi-Wan’s hand curls around it possessively. 

Dark, lustful eyes don’t look away from him as Anakin arches his back and slowly starts gyrating his hips, though they threaten to fall closed when Anakin finds that perfect spot, his lashes fluttering in pleasure and a low groan sounding. “Do I do this to you?” Anakin sighs, surprisingly lucid despite the slight shuddering of his body. “Do I unravel you, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan groans, unable to formulate a response. It’s not necessary anyway, the glimmer in Anakin’s eyes tells him that Anakin knows exactly what he does to him, and he absolutely revels in it. They both lean in to kiss each other then, as much as the angle allows, starting thorough and unhurried and ending hot and messy when Anakin manoeuvres his arms for greater leverage and begins sliding on his cock. 

“Like that, darling,” he murmurs against Anakin’s mouth. “Ride it.”

“ _Fuck,_ Obi-Wan,” Anakin whispers, moving his hips and building a slow, heavy rhythm as he bounces. His head thuds back against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, eyes closing and a curse falling from between his teeth. Anakin looks adrift in ecstasy, at peace as his body moves gracefully, working Obi-Wan’s cock with strong thighs and skilled rolls of his hips. Hand still curved around his neck, Obi-Wan presses wet kisses to his temple and cheek, moaning softly each time Anakin takes him to the hilt.

With great difficulty, Obi-Wan keeps his hips still throughout, relishing in each shallow glide and stirring drop of Anakin’s hips. Anakin’s right, he is unravelled. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more provocative sight than Anakin near incoherent from pleasure, his chest flushed a deep, suggestive red, soft curls in wild disarray and body slick with sweat. His cock is heavy with anticipation as Anakin fucks himself repeatedly, knowing that any moment now his mewls of pleasure are going to take on a needy whine. 

A low noise of urgency sounds as Anakin’s pace begins taking on a frantic edge—Anakin trying to take him deeper and harder but unable to because of their positions. Obi-Wan thrusts forwards just once, as much as he can, and listens to Anakin moan as he grinds his hips back in a plea for more. Removing his hands from Anakin, he places them on the bed and thrusts again into tight, hot heat, growling quietly when Anakin cries out in pleasure. He sets a harsh, slow rhythm, denying Anakin the pace that he knows he really wants. There is something he wants from Anakin before he gets to have that.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin moans, frustrated and a little bit delirious.

“Yes?” he pants, pressing kisses to Anakin’s shoulder as his body is jerked uselessly underneath the rhythm of his thrusts.

“ _Please_ give it to me—”

Obi-Wan pulls back with a grunt and rolls Anakin onto his back, swiftly pushing himself inside again and wrapping himself around Anakin’s trembling body. Both he and Anakin groan roughly at the new depth, though he still keeps his pace slow, biting and sucking at Anakin’s throat as he lets out a warbled moan in irritation.

“ _Master,_ ” Anakin sighs, voice pitching in aggravation.

“Are you going to be good for me?” he asks, feeling the harsh shudder that wracks Anakin’s body at the words.

“Yes, _yes_ —” Anakin whimpers shakily. “I wanna be good for you, you know I can take it—“ 

_Force._

Obi-Wan can't help it, he gives in. His hips snap down hard and fast, fucking Anakin full and fierce. And the _noise_ Anakin makes—a harsh, strangled cry, raw and desperate, as though he has never felt anything quite like it before. “There we are, darling,” he murmurs, watching Anakin’s face contort in pleasure. He looks positively devastated, pupils blown, soft curls sweaty and plastered to his neck and his breath stuttering on every inhale. Anakin sobs affirmatively, his heels digging into the small of Obi-Wan’s back and his shaking hands gripping his shoulders tightly as he’s jostled against the bed underneath him.

“You wanted it like this, didn't you?” he breaths raggedly, his hand tightening its grip on Anakin's hip. He doesn’t need a confirmation to know what the answer is, he knows what Anakin likes, what he wants and how he wants it. Knows how to angle his thrusts so that Anakin cries out hoarsely, knows that when he fists his hand in Anakin’s hair it makes his eyes flutter and chest heave. 

“ _Yes,_ ” Anakin warbles unsteadily, grinding back against him, desperately trying to take him deeper and harder—it only spurs him on, his pace never stuttering as he plunges into Anakin’s loosened hole ruthlessly, the constant sound of wet flesh slapping together making them both moan lewdly. 

Obi-Wan feels like he can’t get enough, he wants to always feel Anakin tightening around him, his body beginning to shake and his hard, dripping cock smearing against both of their stomachs. Anakin looks overwhelmed, mouth agape and hands scrambling at his back with each forceful shove, his eyes bright and breathless as he stares up at him hazily.

“You wanted to be taken and fucked like this,” he rasps, thrusting impossibly deeper, cock pulsing as Anakin chokes on a rough, strained noise of disbelief. “ _Fuck_ — _yes,_ I wanna be good for you,” Anakin slurs lowly, pulling Obi-Wan's face to his and panting into his mouth, muffling his frantic whines with each surge. 

Oh, _Force._

“You are,” he groans in aching, fervent need, welcoming the increased strain of his body as his hips keep pumping relentlessly, constantly surging into tight, slick heat. “You’re so good for me, you always take it so well,” he croons against Anakin’s sweat soaked temple. Moaning, Anakin’s pretty blue eyes lock onto his with a gentleness that defies their current violent, endless desire. He feels utterly undone, ready to give Anakin anything and everything he asks for, anything to keep bringing him unfathomable pleasure. 

His praise results in the familiar tremble of Anakin’s legs and Obi-Wan moans at the implication. “Are you going to come? Just from my cock alone?” he asks, breathless, heart rate skyrocketing at the mere idea. It wouldn’t be the first time, but it never gets any less breathtaking. 

Anakin nods jerkily and wraps his quivering legs even tighter around Obi-Wan’s waist. He holds Obi-Wan’s gaze, wetting his lips against his panting breaths and keening with each hard slap of skin against skin. Arching up to meet him, the hot swell of his cock is impossible to ignore, rubbing against Obi-Wan’s stomach filthily and perfectly. 

“ _Please, Master_ —I wanna take it, I wanna come on your cock—“

_Oh._

He could never deny Anakin anything when he begs like that. He hooks Anakin’s knees over his damp elbows and fucks down harder and deeper. His chest heaves against his ferocious pace, sweat sliding down the curvature of his back and his muscles yearning for it, working for it. Anakin cries out at the change in angle, his body locking taut and his pleasure in the Force on the verge of falling.

"So good," he snarls, white-hot lust sweeping through him and into the writhing heat of Anakin’s body below him. "You're always so good for me, darling.”

“ _Obi-Wan._ I’m—”

Whatever Anakin tries to say is abruptly cut off as he lets out a gutted, desperate sob that Obi-Wan will never forget. Obi-Wan feels Anakin come as much as he hears it; his hips buck up violently and his hole clamps down around his cock, come staining his chest in three warm and wet powerful spurts as his body shudders. Anakin’s pleasure seems to be wrenched from him, uncontrollable and resounding in the Force. 

Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more vividly erotic sight in his life and that, combined with the look on Anakin’s face, is almost enough to end him.

Anakin is lost in utter bliss, the initial overpowering flood of his orgasm draining out into something serene. His face goes slack in pleasure, heady eyes rolling backwards and legs trembling in their now loose grip. His body slumps and his hips rock lazily into his, riding out the rush of sensation for as long as possible. Obi-Wan will never tire of seeing Anakin fall apart on his cock, at seeing the moment where the turbulence of his thoughts is finally quietened and his presence becomes still and tranquil.

“ _Anakin,_ ” Obi-Wan groans, ragged and filled with awe, his hips still pistoning as he watches Anakin’s face, captivated. He feels completely overwhelmed, as raw and unravelled as he’s made Anakin feel.

“ _Fuck_ —so _good,"_ Anakin gasps, mouth parched and chest heaving erratically as he regains control of his speech. Unsteady hands rise to frame his face, stroking across it gently, “Come on,” Anakin whispers, voice a rough, slurring hum. “I wanna see, been thinking about you coming all day, _Obi-Wan_.”

Helpless against his shattering control, he snaps his hips forward one last time and with a low, guttural groan, thickens and pulses inside of Anakin. Molten pleasure pours through his veins as he shakes and gasps into Anakin’s mouth, his hips spasming and his eyes closing, his orgasm wracking through him in sharp, potent bursts.

He and Anakin breathe and kiss into each other’s mouths throughout, Obi-Wan still sheathed inside him and heaving in air around their desperate lips. It takes a surprisingly long time for the crests of euphoria to subside, only Anakin chanting his name in devotion and his own wrecked moans filling the humid air between their tightly pressed bodies. Eventually, his hips jerk as they ride the line between pleasure and pain, the aftershocks of his orgasm being pulled from him until his cock stops throbbing.

Flawless, languid bliss encompasses him as he collapses on top of Anakin, his pulse thumping madly in his ears and his mind wonderfully blank. A pleasant hum settles beneath his skin, until eventually, he gathers enough awareness to withdraw and collapse in a tangled heap next to Anakin, carding soft hands through his hair when he winces at the initial feeling of emptiness.

Obi-Wan glances across at him. He loves Anakin like this. He loves him in every way, but most of all like this. He’s still breathing heavily, chest heaving up and down, mechno hand flat on the bed and flesh hand running through the smeared come on his chest. He looks wrecked and more, his hair a mess and sweaty with the afterglow of euphoria. Cheeks and neck flushed, their red colour making the tan of Anakin’s complexion glow exquisitely. 

The sight stirs fiery heat low in his stomach, arousal simmering and churning and threatening to boil. If he were a younger man he knows he’d already be hardening once again, he isn’t surprised, it’s become a ritual by now. He always wants more, always more of Anakin. How could he not? Anakin is breathtaking like this—the epitome of desire. 

He isn’t sure how long they lie like that, though at some point both of their breathing evens out in the still room and next to him, Anakin lets out a quiet hum in satisfaction, his eyes drowsy and a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “So good,” Anakin comments softly, turning to Obi-Wan and toying idly with the damp copper strands of his hair. “You always fuck me so good.” 

Obi-Wan huffs and pulls Anakin partway on top of him, uncaring of the sticky spend that clings to the both of them. “Maybe you should always request to accompany me on missions, especially if it means I get to come like that afterwards,” Anakin muses, his flesh fingers trailing teasingly across his coarse chest hair. “Would you like that?” He’s silent for a moment before adding, “Or we can take a speeder out somewhere deserted and you can show me how it’s really meant to be ridden?” 

Obi-Wan groans faintly, the valiant twitch of his cock and slight shuddering of his body betraying his exhausted self. “Can I at least rest first?” he protests tiredly, utterly lacking any real resistance to the idea. The sluggish, yet nonetheless endearing laugh Anakin emits at his words may just be enough to make what opposition he has to the suggestion crumble.

“Mhm—I think I can live with that,” Anakin teases, expression purposefully mischievous. “I know some good places to go where we won’t be seen,” he says, nuzzling into Obi-Wan’s neck.

“Of course you do,” he sighs, an indulgent smile on lips and fingertips caressing Anakin’s clammy back. “Anyway, I seem to recall having always been able to make you come like that, no matter whether or not I accompany you on a mission,” he says.

A lupine grin is chucked up at him as Anakin sprawls more so atop of him. “That’s true, but I’m never gunna turn down the chance for it to happen more.” Obi-Wan lets out a soft snort in amusement, glancing down at Anakin and feeling his breath hitch at the contentment that shines in his eyes, a fierce happiness that fills the air with ceaseless flourishes of warmth. 

“Well, as we discussed earlier, you don’t need me on such missions,” he reminds, curious about Anakin’s reply.

“I know,” Anakin murmurs. “But I didn’t mean never, and especially not if it means I’ll never have you staring at me like that again,” he taunts, however there is an undercurrent of earnestness that Obi-Wan is able to detect.

Intrigued, he asks, “You really like me watching you that much?”

Anakin shrugs, a hint at nonchalance that Obi-Wan is easily able to see through. “I guess.” The Force tinges a subtle red—Anakin’s embarrassment. Obi-Wan frowns down at the mop of curls of his suddenly flustered lover. Pulling Anakin up so that he can see his face, he quickly scans his eyes across Anakin’s now cautious features. “Tell me,” he implores gently.

Reluctant eyes flick over to his before hastily diverting away. “I like that I can feel and see how much I impress you,” Anakin mumbles, blushing a deep red. Obi-Wan feels him take a steadying breath before continuing, “It’s not like when I was your Padawan, you know, when I would have done anything to try and get your approval—” Obi-Wan winces slightly at the reminder, he doesn’t regret how he chose to train Anakin, but sometimes he’s reminded that perhaps he should have offered more praise than he gave. He often chose to fall back on censuring Anakin, in hindsight, he now knows that that may not have been the best technique during Anakin’s turbulent Padawan years, “—but that I like knowing that I can impress you now, as your equal.”

He strokes a soothing, understanding hand through the short, soft curls at the nape of Anakin’s neck, replying, “I was always impressed by you, even if I didn’t tell you. And now I am even more so, you’ve turned into an incredible Jedi, Anakin.”

Never has he meant those words more than tonight. There remains a churning worry loitering in his thoughts, and he predicts there always will be, he can’t imagine a time when he won’t worry about Anakin. And that awful, boiling anger thriving just beneath Anakin’s skin is still present, but he has renewed faith that Anakin will be able to overcome it and any challenges he may face. 

The sincerity of his words seem to have startled Anakin, for he looks both bashful and delighted, his cheeks colouring even more and his eyes shining with appreciation. Though, it’s soon replaced by a playfully arched eyebrow and Anakin’s tone inflecting brazenly, “I know—you’re not very subtle, you practically gawked at me today.”

Now it’s his turn to splutter in embarrassment, although the wide, exuberant grin on Anakin’s face makes it worth it. “I wasn’t the only one,” he counters, giddy with infatuation as he leans over to place doting, worshipful kisses on Anakin’s cheeks, forehead and then mouth, before heatedly whispering, “You stared as well. You liked watching me question that engineer.” 

“Yeah,” Anakin says, unashamedly. “It was kriffing hot. Do you know that I was hard for you? I would have let you bend me over right then and there.”

_Force._

Now he really is gawking at Anakin, mouth dropping open in surprise and body scorching with near crippling, thick desire. “ _Anakin_ ,” he hisses, aching from want, but too exhausted to act upon it.

Fortunately for him, Anakin seems to know so without him having to say anything. “You can show me exactly how much you like that in the morning, or when we go out on that speeder,” Anakin suggests, beckoning him closer with a lustrous gaze. Unable to resist, he fists his hand in Anakin’s curls and drags him into a filthy, deep kiss, their tongues sliding together in a hot, lurid press.

When they pull away, he blinks across at Anakin, almost lost in a daze, before Anakin places his arms on his chest and rests his chin on them, looking up at him softly. Pursing his lips, Anakin asks, “Do you think you’ll be able to get more from the engineer when we go to see him later?”

Obi-Wan raises an amused eyebrow, “You want to talk about that now?” he says, glancing down at his and Anakin’s naked and sweaty entwined bodies.

“We won’t have time in the morning,” Anakin replies, brushing a thumb across one of his nipples and grinning suggestively when Obi-Wan’s body twitches at the sensation.

“You’re insatiable,” he murmurs, stroking a hand through Anakin’s hair and smiling when he leans into the touch.

Anakin’s expression turns fond and he quietly whispers, “Yeah, I am. Especially for you.”

His heart flips at the declaration. It’s clear that the sentiment goes beyond Anakin’s want and is a disclosure of something much more private. Obi-Wan is left speechless, for once victim to a verbal ineptitude that he rarely encounters, he doesn’t need to say anything though, Anakin leans forward and presses a chaste, understanding kiss to his lips. Out of everything that has happened between them tonight, Obi-Wan thinks that this may be the most intimate act of the evening. 

Drawing back, Anakin trains expectant eyes on him. Obi-Wan sighs, shrugging his shoulders, “There’s the possibility that he will and we’ll want to find out before he’s potentially corrupted by individuals loyal to the Separatists inside the prison.”

“But he’s going to be kept in a private cell,” Anakin comments, head tilted.

“Yes, but we both know that rarely hinders infiltration. Hopefully we’ll get there in time to find out more about the Geonosians plans and any developments regarding the advancement of the Separatists armaments,” he informs weakly, thoughts drifting to all the tasks that seem never ending.

"It's odd that the Geonosians are recruiting outside their usual circle." 

"Yes," Obi-Wan agrees worriedly. "It tells us that their engineers are unable to build whatever weapon they're hoping to develop." 

The war has led to the creation of weapons that Obi-Wan couldn't have even imagined the potential existence of just five years ago. All of which have had horrendous repercussions on the innocents held in the unrelenting grip of this awful war. He's fearful as to what new horror is on the horizon—his instincts tell him that this new addition could have dire consequences for them all. 

Anakin makes a stifled noise of displeasure. “You’re right, we shouldn’t talk about this now.”

“I don’t mind—”

Anakin narrows his eyes, cocking his head in a perceptive tilt. “No, you were right. I don’t want us to talk about this stuff when we’re in bed together.” 

The corners of his mouth twitch and he lets out a low chuckle, the noise reverberating through his chest where Anakin’s hands rest. “You’re admitting that I’m right?”

Anakin flushes immediately. “Don’t get used to it,” he retorts, petulant and childish enough that it only makes Obi-Wan chuckle again on his behalf.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, darling.” Anakin shivers and levels him with a long, searching look, so Obi-Wan scratches blunt nails through his scalp, watching as Anakin melts into the gesture. “Anyway,” he begins, purposefully impassive, “I was thinking that Ahsoka would go with yourself rather than me.”

For a heart stopping moment Anakin is still and silent, until his eyes turn light and clear and so full of understanding that Obi-Wan’s chest aches. “I want to go with _you,_ Obi-Wan.” Anakin takes one of his hands in his own, curling warm flesh around warm flesh. “Obviously, I’d like Ahsoka to come as well—but I’d rather she stayed in the Temple and catch up with her studies. I’m sorry that I upset you earlier,” he apologizes, brows pulling down in sadness. “I didn’t even think—”

“ _Anakin_ ,” he interrupts gently, stroking his thumb across a calloused palm, “you never have to apologize for wanting to take your Padawan on missions with you. That’s your role as her Master. It was my fault for overlooking the other people in your life. I suppose I’ve become a bit…” he trails off, contemplative, “reliant on you.”

The Force blooms awake, caressing him and buzzing around Anakin in delight. “Yeah?” Anakin asks shyly, eyes lowering and flesh hand beginning to sweat in their tight clasp.

“Yes,” he murmurs sincerely. Only a year ago Obi-Wan would have been frightened of such a fact, there isn’t any fear now. He has learnt how to manage his attachment to Anakin, and he’ll be eternally grateful that Anakin remained confident of his wants even whilst Obi-Wan struggled with his own.

“Next time I’ll think off yo—”

Obi-Wan gives him an intent warning, “No, Anakin. Next time you’ll do nothing differently, your choice was as it should have been. There’s no need for you to pick between Ahsoka and myself.”

The words sound severe, yet they’re necessary. They’ve managed to keep what they mean to each other hidden for a few months now, yet he’s aware that they’re close to tipping off the precarious ledge that they’ve found themselves on. Anakin has handled the constraints to their relationship reasonably well so far, nonetheless, he’s mindful that this finely tuned patience could wear thin if not handled correctly. 

This is why the Code bans attachment, it ignores logic and encourages irrationality, clouding the judgement of a Jedi. Obi-Wan likes to think that he’s come to grips with its disruption, however he’s not naive enough to assume the same thing of Anakin. That doesn’t mean Anakin isn’t trying though, or that he hasn’t appropriately tackled each dilemma that’s arisen so far.

Anakin jerks his gaze away, his throat swallowing thickly in the quiet room. Resentment simmers in the air, pulling down Anakin’s brows and lips in a harsh frown. He remains silent throughout, continuing to stroke Anakin’s hand and allowing him the time to gather his thoughts. Wordlessly, he nods his head—perhaps in resignation, but also in acceptance, before he croaks out, “I understand.”

Obi-Wan considers him. “Do you?” he inquires hesitantly.

A gentle, kind smile is given and the tension of before disperses around them, leaving in its place a subtle, rhythmic beat of certainty. “Yeah, I do,” Anakin says earnestly.

Gratitude floods him, so he pulls Anakin up, desperate to kiss him and to show him how much he’s adored. They kiss for a long time, all encompassing and slowly, tasting and sighing into each other's mouths. No matter how often they do this it never fails to be any less intoxicating, holding him in a grip that is capable of bringing him both an electrifying thrill and a soft serenity. The tender bliss that sits on Anakin’s face as they pull away tells him that he isn’t alone. 

Anakin nuzzles into his neck and sighs as they settle into a loose embrace. Brushing his lips against Anakin’s unruly hair, he breathes in the heavy scent of his musk as his body begins to lull itself into unconsciousness, “Let’s sleep now. We have to be up early.”

“If you say so—old man,” Anakin replies cheekily, laughing lightly when Obi-Wan is only able to rumble a few grouses in response. 

Despite himself, there is a smile on his face when a delicate, lingering kiss is placed on his cheek as he fades off into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope the competence kink came across well? Whenever I think about the fact that by the age of twenty Anakin was responsible for a Padawan and the welfare of thousands of men I'm always left awe struck - so I had to write some competent Anakin, and I genuinely believe that if they were in a relationship Obi-Wan would find that very attractive.
> 
> If you're on Tumblr then come say hello, it's basically me squealing over these two. [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/obi-wkenobi)


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